


They Say the Ice Will Hold

by aelibia



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: And then He Keeps One of Them, Arthur Maxson Pets Several Dogs, Arthur Maxson Pets a Cat, Brotherhood of Steel (Fallout), Brotherhood of Steel AU Ending, Dog Queen, Drunk Sex, F/M, Face-Sitting, Far Harbor Settlement (Fallout), I Blaze Through the Intro to the Far Harbor DLC so I Can Find Erickson and Buy Dogs, Intense Life Changing Chess Matches, Internalized Misogyny, Morning After Texts, Nick Valentine Too Old for this Shit, Poor Life Choices, Post-Canon, Proctor Quinlan Punished By Ass He Was Not Meant to See, Railroad Not Dead, References to Depression, Religious Guilt, Sex in a Submarine, Sex on the Prydwen, The Nucleus, Vaginal Fingering, Walk Of Shame, Wall Sex, children of atom, same age au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26183572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelibia/pseuds/aelibia
Summary: After a night of drunken victory sex with Arthur Maxson, Sole Survivor Hadassah Sarkissian flees to Maine to avoid an awkward morning after talk. But she's about to find out just how persistent Maxson can be when he wants answers.Featuring: ELEVEN DOGS.
Relationships: Arthur Maxson/Female Sole Survivor, Arthur Maxson/Sole Survivor
Comments: 57
Kudos: 54





	1. forced to carry on coolly by my act of being imperturbable

**Author's Note:**

> AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT.
> 
> This has been finished for three months.

Sometimes relationships have to get a little bad before they get good.

It was a lovely morning in post-apocalyptic Boston and the birds knew it. They perched all over the Prydwen’s railings screaming avian profanities in the shrillest tones imaginable. General Hadassah of the Commonwealth Minutemen--please, _Mister_ Minutemen was her _father_ \--awoke to this violent cacophony naked as the day she was born. She lay on a stripped mattress someone dragged onto the foredeck. 

The second thing she noticed was Elder Arthur Maxson of the East Coast Brotherhood of Steel (Mr. Steel was _not_ his father), naked and curled up on her mattress in the standard Little Spoon position. 

He wasn’t snoring, but Hadassah felt that in any universe deferential to the laws of humor, he should have been. One of the birds chose that moment to poop, and the offending matter landed on the mattress nearly where her head had been. Now _that_ was more like it.

A blurry glance across the immediate area revealed no rubberneckers. A pile of fresh clothes laid neatly by the door, however, definitely implied that there had been rubberneckers at some point in the past. Hadassah took a few moments to wallow in humiliation. Why not? Lord knew she had the time to do things like feel sorry for herself, finally. 

The Institute was gone, the boys in steel had won the day, the settlements were settled and un-marked on her map, and the Railroad was squirreled away at Outpost Zimonja out of sight and mind. There was nothing on her to-do list. She was _free._

It was terrifying.

Maxson murmured something in his sleep, wrenching Hadassah back into reality and a more immediate form of despair. 

So, this was a thing. 

Had been a thing. Probably several times over, if the uncomfortable, deep ache between her legs could be trusted. Hmm. Hmm? Oh _yes_ , things were leaking out. Definitely did some sex last night. Wonderful. 

Anything else, universe?

Maxson murmured again and turned over, reaching for Hadassah in a sleepy, tender way and ensconcing her in a bone-crushing cuddle that pressed her face flush against his chest. She wiggled her hips to keep from making contact with his lower half, which seemed to be working until he pressed a thigh between her legs and forced her stomach into contact with one very excited bit of morning wood. Or rather, late morning wood. Possibly early afternoon wood.

Fuck you, said the universe. _Right_ in the pussy.

Not in a good way, the universe added after a pause.

“No,” Hadassah replied to the universe. Maxson grunted something indecipherable into her cranium. Well, she wasn’t nearly strong enough to wrestle him for her freedom, asleep or not. Time to try another angle.

“Gotta pee,” she whispered in the direction of his ear. Nothing happened for a few seconds and Hadassah watched her future flash before her eyes, a future which involved being made to stay in the Brotherhood of Steel’s post-apocalyptic kitchen, barefoot and pregnant with Arthur Maxson’s genetically important wasteland spawn. Then he rolled to his back and released her, still dead asleep, and she felt a bit silly.

A crisp breeze swept over her skin from off the coast, reminding her of her nudity and outside-ness with increasing urgency. She had to get off of this blimp, and fast, if she was going to maintain any semblance of dignity that had been lost the night before. And if the images reentering the atmosphere of her mind at warp speed were to be believed, she’d lost pretty much all of it. Dignity storage unit: empty. 

* * *

_She’d only meant to kiss him on the cheek. Actually, she hadn’t meant to kiss him at all until the third shot of bourbon suggested, very politely, that Elder Maxson had a face in need of kissing. And really, wouldn’t she be remiss in her duties if she didn’t answer the call to action?_

_It was probably an accident when he turned at the last minute and her lips ended up on his. Through a flash of dizzy heat she felt his hands about her waist, pressing and lifting her against the wall of the command deck until she stopped at his eye level._

_“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he said._

_“Don’t fucking stop,” she said._

_Funny how time worked when you were drunk._

_She’d been fully sober just five minutes ago, stepping off of the vertibird and hailed with an endless line of high fives and friendly shoulder punches. Post-mission shower time had never been so fun, and a mere four minutes ago (she’d swear it!) she’d accepted a vodka shot from Haylen in the next stall over._

_Three minutes ago--really, three minutes--she’d changed into a tasteful sundress and given an excellent impression of Cricket the trader, a beer in each hand. A mere two minutes ago she’d found Arthur Maxson sitting quietly in the command deck, coatless and lost in thought. And one--just one!--minute ago she’d challenged him to a post-victory chess match to determine the ultimate winner of a secret piece of advanced technology that only she knew about._

_“I didn’t know you played,” he’d said. Funny that caught his attention. He hadn’t asked about the tech at all._

_“Oh, I’m_ very _good at this. Horse make L. Bishop go looooong. ...I lied. I don’t know anything.”_

_Forty-five seconds ago the room had started moving around without her permission, which was extremely rude of it._

_Thirty seconds ago she’d conceded the game. All for the best when you only had three pieces left on the board, and no idea why you’d lost the others._

_Ten seconds ago she’d stuffed her hands up her dress and removed her panties. She’d placed them into Arthur’s hand, which he’d outstretched with the intention of helping her stand. He did not appear to be breathing anymore, but that probably wasn’t important._

_“Check that shit out, boyyy,” she’d said proudly. “Crotchless panties. A technology lost to time. And space. You can keep those forever because you won. I let you win. For the record. Oh wait, I forgot something.”_

_Five seconds ago she’d leaned in to kiss him on the cheek and he’d turned it into something else, something better._

_Four seconds ago she’d told him not to stop._

_Three seconds ago he’d pushed her up against the wall._

_Two seconds ago he’d looked her in the eyes and told her she was beautiful._

_“Oh my god, finally someone notices,” she’d said. He’d laughed at her, but it wasn’t mean. She didn’t think she’d ever heard him laugh before._

_One second ago he’d pushed inside her. Maybe. Probably. Sometimes it was hard to tell, six drinks in._

_“You feel so fucking good,” he’d said. And then he started to move._

_That was then. This is now._

_Now he’s burying his face in her neck, panting into her skin and leaving damp spots of sweat behind. She’s grabbing onto his hair because she always wanted to feel it. It’s just as nice as she imagined._

_She’s angling her hips to rub her clit against his pelvis, because she just might be able to eke a drunken orgasm out of this thing, the best kind of orgasm and also the most elusive. He’s kissing her again and saying something into her mouth that she can’t quite catch._

_Now Proctor Quinlan is walking in holding some files._

_“Oh my,” Proctor Quinlan says. “Please shut the door next time, sir.” Proctor Quinlan walks out again._

_She presses her forehead against the Elder’s. She laughs and laughs._

* * *

Hadassah slipped on the clean clothes as fast as she could without being too loud. Few things felt more nasty than putting clean fabric on a dirty body, but she couldn’t exactly afford to be picky at the moment. She unfolded Arthur’s coat from his laundry pile and tucked him in. She may have been escaping, but that didn’t mean she had to be _rude_ about it.

Her plan to flee the Prydwen quietly failed immediately after she stepped inside, what with the applause that greeted her arrival. With some whistles thrown in here and there. Here were the rubberneckers, approximately ten of them waiting for her just inside the hatch.

“Well good morning, beautiful,” Haylen said. “Is it safe to go out there yet?”

“Uh,” Hadassah said.

“You sure know how to have a good time, Sentinel. Ma’am,” another scribe piped in from the back of the Official Brotherhood of Steel Walk of Shame Escort Committee.

“You didn’t break him, did you? Ma’am.” Oh god, Knight Lucia was here. Was _everyone_ here?

“I have to go and do things,” Hadassah said in what she hoped was a mysterious yet commanding tone of voice. “Elder Maxson will be up shortly, I’m sure.” She did not run down the catwalks to the exit, because she _wasn’t_ running away. But she did briskly jog.

“Don’t go near Proctor Teagan,” Haylen called down from above. “He’s still pretty mad about the redecorating.”

* * *

_Everywhere you looked, people were partying. Even Kells looked to be having some sort of fun, sitting in Cade’s office along with Brandis and Teagan having some stoic old man time. For now, the remainder of the revelers occupied either the airport or the very lowest decks, leaving the main deck relatively clear save for the aforementioned Drunken Old Man Club in the clinic._

_Elder Maxson had pulled her up here from the command deck with a promise of a better location and less people walking in on them, not that his unexpected audience had stopped him from getting off on the command deck anyway._

_“Here, for real?” Hadassah giggled at the sight of Elder Maxson trying his best to unlock Teagan’s cage. The man was well on his way to fully plastered._

_“Nobody comes in here,” the Elder said. He pulled her inside and shut the door behind them._

_“Far be it from meeeee to critique your strategy, but a full quarter of the walls in this room are windows. And people come here a lot, actually. This is--this is the--the supply hole. Store. Depot.”_

_Maxson did not seem to think this mattered, as he’d already laid on the ground and scooted until his head rested between her feet._

_“Sit on my face,” he slurred. “Please.”_

_“Shit. Damn, okay. Enjoy your meal. Please leave a tip, Elder Maxson.” She sat on his face. It was, on the whole, a neutral experience on the clitoral front. Six plus drinks did not do wonders for one’s downstairs sensitivity._

_“No. Just Arthur.” He licked an unbroken line from her clitoris to her perineum._

_“Okay, Just Arthur,” she said. “Kinda drew the shit stick on names, huh? Just Arthur. That’s funny.” Hadassah snorted. “That’s some bullshit. Someone got handed a baby and said, ‘This looks like a Just Arthur,’” Her giggle turned into a moan when he gave her a suck sharp enough to awaken her inebriated nerve endings._

_“All of your jokes are so bad,” he moaned, muffled by dress and labia._

_“Gonna make you come so hard,” he added politely._

_“Good luck with that ‘cause I can’t feel shit. Too drank. Drunk. Glad you’re having a good time.”_

_“Help yourself to anything you see.”_

_“Don’t mind if I do.” Zippers were so much crankier at this angle. Thankfully, whoever had designed these flight suits seemed to understand that the less complex the fasteners were, the better. The little opening at the pelvis was probably designed to allow for a quick pee in the field..._

_...But it_ also _functioned as the gateway drug to sixty-nining your commanding officer in the supply depot._

_Occupied as she was by cock, Hadassah did not see Proctor Quinlan, but she heard him just fine._

_“Now if I have to put you squires to bed one more--oh, for the love of--Elder,_ please.”

* * *

She could have doubled back, but that would mean tunneling through the rubberneckers again. Proctor Teagan gave her an evil look as she passed, which she returned with a smile. So, that was yet another person to put on her Avoid Until Further Notice list. You know what, scratch getting off of the Prydwen. She needed to get off this _continent._

“Sentinel Sarkissian.” And there was the devil himself. In the flesh. Proctor Quinlan appeared in the doorway of his office as Hadassah passed by, one more obstacle in the path of her egress determined to shame her into nonexistence. 

“Oh, my god. Hi. Hello, Proctor Quinlan. I’m so sorry,” Hadassah said to the floor. Behind her, she heard a few quickly-smothered giggles in Cade’s clinic. How humiliating.

To her amazement, Quinlan only sighed and continued picking up loose paper from the floor.

“I accept your apology, Sentinel. It isn’t every day one vanquishes the Institute. I, too, was young and full of fire once. Enjoy yourself.”

She fought to keep any expression of obvious relief from her face. “Proctor Quinlan: closet romantic?”

“Don’t push it, Sentinel.”

Thank god no one from the flight control room peeked their head up to see who’d taken the ladder down. Once she’d paid the embarrassment toll with Quinlan, the rest of her journey down to the airport was free of interruptions, if not of snickers and significant looks. Well, fuck _all_ of you, thought Hadassah. 

I wish I’d just gone home to Sanctuary afterward, she also thought. When you spent months fighting for your life in an irradiated hellhole, things like depression and anxiety were thrown unceremoniously into the backseat so that adrenaline and desperation could drive. Now that things were over, she could feel the encroaching apathy. There was only so much time she had left before she turned into an unwashed lump deep inside a sleeping bag in a dimly lit room, and that wasn’t something anybody needed to see. If she could just get to Codsworth and make a plan...

Her pip boy pinged. Elder Maxson had sent her a message. She immediately panicked and deleted it without reading. He sent another thirty minutes later. This one she read. 

_[Prydwen Internal Network_

_Mobile Mail Terminal Sarkissian_

_Fr: Elder Maxson MX-001E_

_To: Sentinel Sarkissian SK-187Sn_

_I have just received confirmation from my terminal that my message was deleted unread. Please inform me if your pip boy is experiencing communications malfunctions. Proctor Quinlan would like to know when you will be able to meet with him to record your experience during the battle with the Institute.]  
_

She deleted that one, too. She took a nap. Two days later, another message came.

_[Prydwen Internal Network_

_Mobile Mail Terminal Sarkissian_

_Fr: Elder Maxson MX-001E_

_To: Sentinel Sarkissian SK-187Sn_

_I have just received confirmation that your message was successfully received and read and I have not yet seen your response. Please let me know that you are safe and well. The Minutemen at the Castle would not provide information on your location.]_

She didn’t delete that one, but agonized over it for hours on her slightly damp couch in the living room of her Sanctuary home. Oh, and didn’t that sound bourgeois as all hell? Yes darling, _today_ I shall read my correspondence at the _Sanctuary_ abode. Tomorrow, mayhap I shall dine in mine coastal _lean_ -to.

The text cursor on her pip boy blinked. Taunting her. This shouldn’t have been difficult, not really. But honestly, in addition to the oncoming ennui storm, Hadassah felt well and truly humiliated by what had happened. It would come across as silly to the comparatively sexually liberated Wastelanders--it even came across as silly to herself--but other people knowing she’d had sex, just for fun, made her want to crawl into a hole and die. 

She’d built herself up over the past few months as an untouchable, competent badass that the Brotherhood should feel lucky to have found. People respected her as a Very Serious Person who did Serious Things. Now all that was thrown away with one bad decision. The part of her that’d spent an entire year reading 1970s women’s lib literature scoffed at the idea that having casual sex meant in any way that she was a Sullied Woman. But the part of her that had attended a conservative, emotionally abusive and sexually restrictive church for twenty years wasn’t about to tip its hat and bid her adieu. 

You didn’t just _get rid_ of that kind of social conditioning. Even if you could logic and education yourself away from it, that was just top brain shit. Animal brain still firmly believed in the unforgivable sinnery of letting someone you weren’t married to see one of your boobs.

* * *

_“Tell me how it feels. You like that? I don’t care if the whole Commonwealth hears you. Say my name again.”_

_“Yes, fuck, yes, Just Arthur, harder--harder--right there, oh god oh fuck.”_

_“Say it_ right, _goddammit_.”

_“Don’t know what you’re--oh!--talking--hnng--about, Just Arthur. Maybe next--ahh--time--oh shit, Quinlan?!”_

_“Sir. This is my_ office. _I respectfully ask that you leave at once. … Elder, that mattress does not belong to you, sir. You bring that back this instant, sir.”_

* * *

Hadassah contemplated her embarrassment. She was of the belief that if you thought about your emotions long enough, you could control them. This embarrassment, she reasoned, was irrational and would dissipate as soon as she figured out _why_ she was so embarrassed. The social conditioning she was used to suppressing, and it would settle down and behave once she got her more immediate cause for shame out of the way. 

One of the contenders for Cause for Shame she’d already admitted to herself. Casual sex wasn’t the sort of thing people accepted in her old circles, even in the Year of Our Lord 2077. It wasn’t something good girls _did_ who went to church and loved the Lord. Casual sex was for sluts and harlots and other people good enough to bring to church to get saved but not good enough to have over for lunch after the service. 

Too bad her cultural baggage hadn’t turned into carbon along with everything else this close to the bomb. She thought--like a dumbass--that she’d gotten over that particular bit of prewar cultural baggage after her first exciting tryst with Some Guy in Diamond City, but maybe she was right all along that that kind of shit never left you. Maybe life was just a series of thinking you were over it and then having “it” show up and curb stomp your figurative teeth out. 

Part of it was Maxson himself. That one was a little harder to admit to, even if only in her head. Hadassah reread his messages. In the street outside the house, a couple of the settlers’ children played catch the stick with Dogmeat.

Unfortunately, she _liked_ Maxson and craved his respect. She liked him and she wasn’t brave enough to say so for fear that if he knew, he’d write her off as another empty-headed admirer. She’d had to get drunk as fuck to hit on him in the first place. And he’d had to get drunk before returning the favor. 

So not only was she a coward who’d probably lost his respect by flinging herself at him, he probably didn’t even think she was worth paying attention to sober. And she’d heard the rumors about him. Popular gossip claimed he had a different lover every week and that he left them the second the thrill of the chase had ended.

The thought of going back to the Prydwen and experiencing his inevitable disinterest was too much to bear. Even if he never returned her affections, she could live with that. What she feared most was the thought that his support and interest in her up to this point was all fake, sustained just long enough to get in her pants and then move on. It would devastate her pride, and serve as confirmation that her musty old church had been right--you couldn’t have casual sex with someone _and_ be respected by them at the same time. 

Her pip-boy pinged again. It was Deacon. She had no idea how he kept getting her number. She’d spoken to the man _twice_ after clearing the Switchboard with him.

_[your shitty boyfriend won’t stop butt dialing the Castle trolling for tail. Need me to run interference? Please say yessssssssssssss kay im gonna do it anyway]_

Hadassah contemplated Arthur Maxson. Over the past year that she’d worked with him, the man had mellowed out significantly. Hadassah liked to think that this was mostly her influence. He still wasn’t sold on the idea that Some Super Mutants are Okay Maybe, but she’d made huge strides with him in the Non-Feral Ghouls Are Friend-Shaped department. 

And she’d noticed after bringing up several...incidents...to Maxson that Brotherhood soldiers no longer made casually disparaging comments about the locals. Not to her face, anyway. That was something. Right? And on the vertibird back to the Prydwen from the roof of Mass Fusion, he’d even mentioned the possibility of shelving all future synth hunts until further notice. Something about the Institute no longer being able to control them anyway, and other projects taking more priority. He’d looked a bit sad and she wondered if he was thinking of Danse.

Certainly, Maxson had changed quite a bit in the year he’d spent in the Commonwealth. Towards the end, she’d suspected he genuinely valued her opinion. Even if he hadn’t immediately acted on her words or even agreed with her, there were times that he sought her out, unprompted, to ask what she thought about this or that.

And now. 

And _now_ she’d just gone ahead and chucked all that respect into the nearest irradiated sinkhole. Now she was just another one of his girls of the week. All of that progress, the relationship-building, his personal attention, gone. He probably wouldn’t ever look her in the face ever again now that he knew how easy she really was.

_Where in the god damn hell did that come from,_ said the tiny rational Hadassah who lived in the back of her mind. _How did we get from ‘I’m kind of embarrassed and trying to get over it’ to ‘Maxson hates me now because we fucked?’ When has he ever done something to make you think--_

_You shut up and let me wallow in my dark fantasy,_ Hadassah interrupted. Tiny Rational Hadassah could get in the way of a really good pout if you let her. 

But _...was_ Maxson the type to treat her like that? Maybe, maybe not, but she sure as fuck didn’t want to stick around and find out. Even in the best case scenario, how could they ever go back to any sort of normal? _Everyone_ knew. They probably thought she’d slept her way up the ranks. They were probably talking shit about her _right now._

_Nobody was rude to you about it,_ Tiny Rational Hadassah chimed in again. The bitch did not learn. _They were just teasing you over it. They probably saw this coming from a mile away. You would have seen it coming too if you’d act grown for five consecutive minutes and admit you might like each other a little._

Hadassah dropped her pip boy on the ground and stretched out face-down on the couch. Possibly, she would find the answers she needed somewhere in the centuries-old cushions. 

It wasn’t giving up, she told herself. It wasn't the Depression yet. It was just...couch therapy without the therapist. She’d just lay here for a few hours, limp and carved out and angry at herself, and she’d feel better at the end.

She wondered if there were other people in the Brotherhood he’d done like this. Fucked good and hard in a moment of alcohol-fueled glory, tossed aside the next day after he got bored of them. Maybe it was a regular thing, and she was making too big of a deal over it. Maybe by the time she returned to the Prydwen, everyone would have moved on to shaming Maxson’s next lay. And he’d forget about her entirely, and never speak to her again. Or he’d throw her off of the Prydwen. Yeah.

_He sent you a morning-after text you dramatic bitch,_ shrieked Tiny Rational Hadassah.

Well that didn’t mean anything. Any asshole could send a morning-after text. Or two.

Maybe Danse would know what to do. He was like a living, breathing Tiny Rational Hadassah, with the critical difference being that Hadassah sometimes _listened_ to what Large Rational Danse had to say.

Out in the street, Dogmeat succeeded in shredding a stick and rolled over, providing his belly for Sturges’ pats.

No. Danse could _not_ know about this. Then at least there’d be one person in the Brotherhood (sort of) who respected her. A little--he _had_ seen her have that mutfruit eating contest with herself. The one that ended with him holding her hair back while she cried and puked her guts out. 

Well, if he didn’t respect her he at least liked her. And that was something.

_Ping!_ Lancer-Captain Kells this time, with Elder Maxson copied. Fuck.

_[Prydwen Internal Network_

_Mobile Mail Terminal Sarkissian_

_Fr: Lancer-Captain Kells KS-390LC_

_To: Sentinel Sarkissian SK-187Sn, Elder Maxson MX-001E_

_Sentinel, the Prydwen received a communication at 0700 hours from an unknown sender identifying themselves as “Hadassah’s extremely real and jealous lover, Colonel Sexy.” This communication implied that you were at your residence in Diamond City “servicing all local prostitutes, because it is important to give back to the community.” Please verify the validity of this communication for official purposes. Please also verify that you have not given out information regarding private communication channels used by the Brotherhood of Steel.]_

Goddammit, Deacon. 

So this was what it felt like to have your entire world fall apart around you for a second time. She wondered what would happen if she just sent Maxson the Brotherhood equivalent of a two-week notice. Did those exist? Would they hunt her down for desertion? Would Arthur Maxson personally come and shoot her in the face? 

Would he be _shirtless_ while shooting her in the face? No shirt, yes sexy battlecoat? Pants: optional??

Would they first have hot angry sex up against one of her ex-neighbors’ rusted out Corvegas? Would he pin her to the hood with his strong, muscley arms? Would _she_ pin him to the hood with her strong, muscley vagina? Would the nuclear engine ignite and explode from the friction of their wet-nasty, animalistic fucking? Jesus Christ, Tiny Rational Hadassah was right. How _did_ she get here?

_Ping!_ Deacon again.

_[Okay but did you really tell Preston that the treaty between the Minutemen and the Brotherhood was obtained through the use of “vaginal-based diplomacy?” not gonna lie i’m almost proud of you and that’s the most proud of you i ever have been]_

Hadassah pressed her face back into the couch and screamed as quietly as she could. Then she sent a quick message to Kells with the least possible amount of words needed to defuse the situation. Then, she considered a hundred different responses she could send to Maxson privately with differing levels of professionalism, and then rolled over and went to sleep instead. One more nap and this would all resolve itself.

Two days later, another _ping!_

_[Prydwen Internal Network_

_Mobile Mail Terminal Sarkissian_

_Fr: Elder Maxson MX-001E_

_To: Sentinel Sarkissian SK-187Sn_

_Are you upset with me? Is this about what happened after the Institute? I’d like to speak with you as soon as possible._

_Arthur]_

Nope. No. Nope, nope, negative, negatory, denied, return to sender, fuck to the no. This was _not_ happening, not now or ever.

To hell with her unaddressed feelings. To hell with her embarrassment. To hell with her religious baggage. It was time to do the only sensible thing and run.

But first, she needed a plausible reason to leave. And she knew right where she could get one.

* * *

“Hey Valentine, how’s it hanging?”

“It doesn’t. You know that.”

“Ayyy, nice one. Hey uh, do you still need help with that Nanako case thing? Missing girl, up northeast of here?”

“Well sure, were you thinking about heading up anytime soon?”

“Yeah! Let’s go now.”

“Now? As in _now_ now?”

“ _Now_ now.”

She took Strong with her, too. She knew Nick would ask Questions about all of this, very perceptive questions which ultimately would land him right on the money. She would resist providing him the information, of course. If he wanted his salacious gossip he could _earn_ it, damn it. 

But Strong...Strong didn’t give a shit about anyone’s sex-related problems. He was simple and pure, god bless him. He would also serve as an effective deterrent to any fuckery which might arise in this mysterious Far Harbor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As is my custom, I will now implore you for comments. Comments make authors want to keep working on other things, and are a nice gesture to someone who worked on something for free that they are excited to show you. You can comment at any time! Even if you are reading this from the future, you can still comment! Getting comments on my super old stuff is always a nice blast from the past.
> 
> But perhaps you don't know what to comment. Your brain empty. Understandable. Sometimes my brain empty. Here is a list of comment prompts for you to choose from:
> 
> 1\. Do you have enough swag to steal someone's mattress and fuck on it in order to make a Statement?  
> 2\. If you could, would you run away to Maine in order to escape an awkward sex talk?  
> 3\. Is it okay for bacon to be floppy when you eat it? Or are you one of these Crunchy Bacon Hoes?  
> 4\. A solitary GIF [Format: < img src = "GIF URL GOES HERE" > except everything between the <> has no spaces] [you can find gif URLS easily by right clicking the gif on the internet and selecting View Image and then copying the URL]


	2. the ice meets again over my head with a click

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> *horny sounds*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #WhereAreTheCrotchlessPantiesNowArthur #WhatDidYouDoWithThem #pantygate
> 
> Content Warning: DOGS and also casually recollected religious ritual misogyny. it be like that.

There wasn’t much to write home about, in the end. Fuckery  _ did  _ happen on the island, just as fuckery happened everywhere else she went. But once again, things ended up somewhat acceptably for all parties. All of the good karma Hadassah never enjoyed pre-war must simply have been waiting for the world to end before it emerged. 

Far Harbor loved her for beating a sea monster to death (among other things), Acadia loved her for supporting their existence (and for keeping the Nucleus on a leash), and the Nucleus loved her for tripping balls in a radioactive swamp (and for doing their dirty work...as far as they knew).

And now? Now she was kicking back in Erickson’s sick ass jet-house, feeling like a queen with her ten new dogs. Her embarrassment, her complicated feelings for Maxson, and the man himself were literally hundreds of miles away. She no longer cared what anyone in the Brotherhood thought of her. She didn’t even care what Maxson thought about her. And she definitely hadn’t thought about him every single day, pining like a lovesick idiot. 

Honest. 

Everything was as it should be. 

She should’ve done this ages ago. Running away from problems  _ always  _ worked; the trick was just knowing how far to run. 

Strong had taken an instant liking to Erickson, and Hadassah was of a mind to leave Strong on the island when she embarked. The local settlements certainly hadn’t minded Strong after watching him bludgeon a mirelurk queen to death with his bare hands. Hell, they’d given him his own little captain’s hat and everything. Life was pretty good.

And then Nick  _ Fucking  _ Valentine had to ruin everything. Hadassah knew the one about not killing the messenger, but this time it was  _ extremely _ tempting. 

“Hey doll, Captain Avery sent me after you. Seems Arthur Maxson himself showed up in a vertibird looking like an angry wet cat.”

“Those your words or hers?”

“They’ll be yours too when you see him.”

“Oh, god. Nick. I’m not ready for this.” Ten dogs shoved their wet noses into her hands with concerned devotion.

“No one ever is. Want me to give him the ol’ runaround?”

“No. No, but thank you. I’ll get changed quick, just have him wait in The Last Plank. I’ll be right there.”

* * *

It was funny seeing him sit in one of Mitch’s grubby old booths, a shitty whisky in front of him like he was just another harborman. But even if you looked past his unfamiliar dress, you’d never mistake someone like Maxson for a John Doe. He occupied every space with complete confidence in his right to be there, with the posture to match. 

When he spoke, people who’d never even heard of the Brotherhood found themselves carrying out his wishes by the time he got the last word out. And he  _ always _ got the last word out. It was the sort of tenacity that pissed Hadassah off as much as others had been taken in by it, from the moment she’d met him. Charismatic men were not to be trusted. And yet, he’d grown on her.

He hadn’t seen her yet, so Hadassah tucked into the shadows just inside the entrance. Just a few more minutes of calm, and then she’d walk up. One more chance to pretend everything would be okay. Wind from off the coast rattled the little building, drawing his eye away from the whisky and to the harried windows. She thought he looked as angry as the incoming storm felt. Though that could have just been his terminal resting bitch face.

Tink jumped up on the table and batted at his hands, begging for scratches with her creaky old yowl. The Elder obliged, and the tiniest quirk of his lips had Hadassah recouping the courage she’d left on the mat outside. She made her way to the booth and slipped into the opposite seat before she could change her mind.

“Hello, Elder Maxson.” There. Start off nice and neutral.

“Hadassah--Sentinel.” His hand froze on Tink’s back. The old cat, knowing when a good thing had gone, jumped off the table and back to her warm spot next to the stove.

For a few moments, there was silence. Debby sidled over to Hadassah with a can of water. She gave Hadassah a significant look that said “if you need me to remove this man from the building, I will do so with all the power I can muster,” which Hadassah did not doubt. Regardless, Hadassah remained unwilling to provoke the locals’ wrath against Maxson. Not before knowing why he’d come all this way, in any case. Maybe he liked to execute his former lovers for desertion personally.

“Is...something wrong, Elder?” Well...that was clearly the wrong thing to say. Maxson’s eyes hardened into flints, his knuckles going white from the tightness of his grip against the glass.

“‘Is something wrong?’ ‘Is something  _ wrong _ ?’ You disappear for an entire month without a word to--the Brotherhood, and you’re asking me if something is  _ wrong _ ?” Around them, the bar had gone dead silent, watching. “The  _ entire  _ chapter has been scouring the Commonwealth looking for you. People were starting to think you were dead. Your Minutemen weren’t saying anything, we kept getting untraceable messages taunting us with clues as to your whereabouts; no one had any idea where you might have gone, not even Paladin--‘is something  _ wrong.’ _ Unbelievable.”

She stared down into the ancient wood, unable to look him in the face for fear of tearing up. She’d never been able to handle disappointment gracefully. “But...you said I was a Sentinel now, right? You said I don’t have to--I can just, like, go do my own stuff...For the...Brotherhood.”

“Well--yes, but it would have been nice for you to at least warn me--us--that you were going to disappear to another  _ state _ . For a  _ month _ . A month with no word from you, during which time I had significant leave to imagine all manner of horrible things happening to your person. Things which I likely would never have known about, had you actually gone off and died.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“I’m aware that you conduct missions lacking a modicum of self-preservation, but I’d hoped things would be different now. You could’ve sent a _single_ _message._ ” He had, in fact, sent her fourteen additional messages of his own. Not that she’d seen (and ignored) them until she repaired a comm tower yesterday.

And what was this ‘I’d hoped things would be different now’ all about? Different how? Different after  _ what? _ Surely he wasn’t referring to the sex. Was there some secret part of being a Sentinel she’d missed out on in the manual? Officially, she’d done exactly what he said she  _ could  _ do: fuck off to parts unknown for personal reasons thinly disguised as “Brotherhood business.” 

Like okay, maybe leaving without saying goodbye or alerting anyone of her destination was rude, kind of dangerous, and borderline desertion, but...hmm……...actually, she didn’t have a good rebuttal for any of this.

She was missing something, though. Hadassah was sure of it. Arthur--Elder Maxson--had always had a bit of a temper, but for as long as she’d known him he kept it safely under control even in the most stressful of situations. If anything did leak out it usually manifested in the form of dry sarcasm that went over most people’s heads. He didn’t appear to be  _ that _ sort of upset right now, though.

Arth--Elder Maxson’s body language was all wrong for “anger: the kind where your CO is reading you the riot act.” If she had to nail it down, actually, she would have to call it “worry: the kind where your lover is upset you didn’t call him after you landed in Toronto.” He leaned in a little closer than Brotherhood decorum allowed, for one. And the dismay in his eyes said  _ I can’t believe you did this to me  _ rather than  _ you are a disgrace to this family, and I will cunt punt you off the flight deck into the Atlantic. _

Now if she could just figure out why in the fucking fuck Arthur Maxson was looking at her like that, then everything would come together.

“I, uh...sorry about not answering your messages. I came here to take care of...something, and then it took longer than I thought it would, and it was only yesterday that I got communications with the mainland back online. Some of my um, rowdier friends here destroyed a comm tower, but I got them to let me fix it.”

Just Arthur did not seem pacified by this information. He actually looked  _ more _ upset now, and his face went blank in the way it often did when she presented him with large amounts of upsetting intel detailing her more dangerous missions.

“‘Rowdier friends?’ What exactly have you been doing on this island, Sentinel?” Arthur crossed his arms. Oh, so he was breaking out the ranks now, was he? She noticed he had a habit of doing that to her whenever something she’d done made him pissy. He usually called her--wait, when  _ had _ he started calling her by her name?

“The rowdy friends are kind of the Children of Atom? I’ve been kind of working with them a little.”

_ “What.” _

“If I take you to my rowdy friends and show you their Columbia-class nuclear submarine,  _ then  _ will you calm down?”

“Show me their  _ What.” _

* * *

Arthur did not calm down when he saw the Columbia-class nuclear submarine. He looked livid, actually.

Oh, on the outside he looked the picture of temperance. Not one wrinkle besmirched his young, tender face. Not a twitch altered his wholesome visage. But Hadassah had seen this Look before and knew that this expression did not fall under designation “calm: I have finished meditating and am one with creation” but rather “rage: I have surpassed standard human levels of fury to the point where I have dissociated, briefly, and I will unleash hell upon the earth and all its denizens when I return to my corporeal form.” 

Luckily, word of Arthur’s identity hadn’t reached the Island. Or it had, and no one gave two shits about him. Either way, Brian had let them both into the Nucleus with a stern but polite warning to Hadassah not to let her guest cause any trouble. With a long glance at Arthur’s sidearm, Brian also asked her to keep said guest within arm’s length at all times. 

Arthur looked down when she grabbed his hand but remained silent and blank. This worrisome reticence continued all the way to the little submarine alcove she’d been gifted by High Confessor Tektus. It contained a full size mattress  _ and _ a blanket with no holes, so it was essentially the Nucleus’s executive diplomatic suite. 

She dropped Arthur’s hand to draw the curtain that passed for a door, and fiddled with the holding clasp longer than was strictly necessary to buy herself time to think. It was well past midnight by that point. When she turned around again, Arthur was still standing, though he’d taken off his coat and folded it neatly on the chair she never used.

Slipping past him, she reached into a slit in the mattress and drew out the small, green and silver key she’d hidden a week ago. Taking Arthur’s hand, she placed it in his palm. She didn’t look him in the face, focusing instead on the key.

“It’s the nuclear launch key for the sub,” she whispered. “They don’t know I have it. If they knew I had it, they’d try to use it, and this boat is rusted solid to the dry dock. It’d just blow them all up. Or it  _ would  _ blow up if I hadn’t been removing key parts of the warhead for the past three weeks. Without the firing mechanism in place, nothing will happen. That’s what I’ve been working on...out here. Well, one of the things. When I found out about the warhead I knew I had to do something.”

“I see.” Giving him the key seemed to dissipate some of the tension in the air. Hadassah felt relieved that he didn’t seem to think she’d actually converted to a crazy cult hell bent on reliving Armageddon. She’d had enough of people like that from  _ before _ the bombs dropped.

“Hadassah,” he said. “Look at me.” He reached a hand out towards her face. Hadassah, having been on the receiving end of many a gentle chin lift, ducked under his arm and began removing her shoes.

“I’m tired,” she said. “Can we just go to sleep? I can’t do this right now.” She turned off the lantern next to her mattress--solar powered for clean, renewable camping! tell your friends!--and then she began removing her clothing. After a moment of hesitation, Arthur began to remove his as well, and within five minutes she found herself naked yet again on a mattress with Maxson. He kept the underwear on this time.

Ten minutes passed in agonizing quiet, accentuated by the unnatural stillness of the air. They both began talking at the same time.

“I know you’re angry with me,” she began, as he said “I wish you had told me where you were going.”

Dear god.

So this was it. She was going to die of awkwardness in a rusted-out submarine in Buttfuck, Maine.

“You first,” he said amiably.

She shuffled a little to get further under the covers. He went very still beside her, and she remembered that she was naked on purpose. Nothing like a good mammary distraction to get out of those tough conversations. After all, it wasn’t like she could  _ un- _ slut herself out of this sham of a relationship. 

But you couldn’t just  _ go  _ there. You couldn’t just go right to boob-in-face avoidance tactics. You had to  _ ease  _ into it. Otherwise it was too obvious.

“You were saying something about me--” he prompted.

“--being angry, yes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was leaving. When you said you had no more orders and that I was free to decide my next course of action, I took that to mean that I was free to decide my next course of action. I didn’t know I was  _ actually  _ supposed to be checking in regularly.” 

Why was it that whenever she went into a conversation planning on suppressing cuntiness, the cuntiness came out worse than if she hadn’t tried suppressing it at all?

“Yes,” said Arthur. “I suppose I can...see why you were confused, if that was your perspective on...things.”

The emptiness in her chest gnawed at her. Why wouldn’t he just  _ stop _ and then she’d fuck him or whatever he wanted, and then he could go home and  _ leave her alone, why wouldn’t everyone just-- _

“I can’t stay in the Brotherhood, Arthur.”

She felt him raise up sharply on his forearm. 

“What are you saying, Sentinel?”

A sharp stab of anger coursed through her and she fought to keep it in check. “My  _ name _ is Hadassah. Look, I appreciate what you’ve done for me, but there’s no reason for me to stay around anymore. I needed to get into the Institute and so did the Brotherhood. You all got what you wanted. I found out what happened to my nephew. Now that it’s all over...what else could I even offer you?”

“What could you  _ offer _ \--Hadassah, do you really think that you’re just a resource to be used? Do you think  _ I _ think of you that way?” His voice strained as he spoke.

“I hope you don’t,” she said quietly. “But I just don’t think the Brotherhood is the right place for me in the long term. I’m not a soldier. I’m never going to be. I hate this.”

“Is this really about the Brotherhood?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we had sex and then you practically ran away for an entire month and stopped answering anyone’s messages. And now you won’t even look at me.”

“Oh. That.” 

“So if that’s what this is really about,” Arthur continued, “then I’d appreciate your honesty in the matter. If you don’t--if you think you made a mistake and you regret it, I don’t want you to feel like you have to run away from me.” 

The distant echoes of the Children still moving outside the submarine faded as the last of them went to sleep. An oppressive silence remained, cutting a gulf between them in the darkness.

“I’m not running from you,” she whispered.

“Aren’t you?” He sounded sad.

He wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t. There was probably no one aside from prewar ghouls--ones she hadn’t met--that would have any idea what she was going through, who would recognize the source of her guilt and the way it ate her up inside. It was all so much. Too much.

_ You don’t know how he’ll react until you tell him, you know, _ her treacherous thoughts pointed out. Be honest. 

Honesty. What a terrifying prospect.

“I’ll leave,” Arthur said. “I’ll tell everyone you were here on a covert assignment and unable to communicate freely. And I won’t contact you except on official business.”

She felt him slip out from under the covers. The clink of metal on metal told her he was putting his flight suit back on in the dark.

“You’re leaving?” She sat up. The faintest glow from beyond the curtain revealed his outline.

“I think that’s for the best. I apologize for making you uncomfortable. It was inappropriate of me to pursue you given my position.”

“Arthur…”

“Good-bye, Sentinel.” He reached for his coat, and she knew that if he put it on and walked out, she’d never see him again.

“I was afraid.” 

She stood up, clutching the sheet around her. A soft, dull roar filtered into the space from outside, the sound made up of millions of tiny drops on a thick metal roof. Rain. Arthur stilled, one hand on the clasp of the curtain.

“Not of you. I was afraid of what people would think of me for sleeping with you. I thought you would think less of me, for giving in like that.”

“‘Giving in?’” She heard the slide of his hand through his hair. “Giving in to what? I don’t understand. Why would I think less of you?”

“I don’t know.” She took a deep breath, taking note of the way the air caught in her throat. If she didn’t get all of this out now, it probably wasn’t coming out ever. “I grew up...being taught to be afraid of sex. My parents were part of a religion that was very strict about things like that, especially for girls. You weren’t supposed to talk about it, and if you were caught having sex before you got married, they would...do things to you.”

“Do things?” He turned around but kept his distance.

“One of my friends got caught just kissing a boy behind the church. They called her to the front during a service and everyone started telling her what a whore she was. Then they all prayed for her and dumped olive oil on her head and said they loved her.”

“I--that’s--” She didn’t think she’d ever heard Arthur at a loss for words before. He always had  _ something. _ It seemed she’d well and truly stumped him.

“I know that probably sounds insane to you. I know you have sex all the time just for fun. But that’s just not how I grew up. I changed my mind about a lot of things years ago, when I left at 18. But I guess it’s not something I can just leave behind. Nobody gets to erase a whole childhood of religious conditioning. So I don’t want you to think I regret sleeping with you, or that I’m upset with how you acted. I wanted it. I just feel guilty and embarrassed about it for reasons that have nothing to do with you.”

The curtain rustled softly when he dropped his hand. Maneuvering carefully in the cramped space, he made his way to the chair and sat down. When she held a hand out to see where he was, he jumped a little when she made contact with his knee. His muscles were tense. 

For a minute, she thought he’d pull away and leave, but then he sighed and put his face in his hands. She sank back down on the mattress and did the same. Several minutes passed in more silence.

“Three people,” Arthur said.

“What?”

“I’ve slept with three people, including you. And before you, after the Institute, I hadn’t slept with anyone for eight months. No time. Or it wasn’t appropriate. I make it a point not to sleep with anyone under my command. It made things messy once, in the past. So if I can’t easily go to a civilian settlement...”

She felt her face burn up in shame. “Oh. I’m so sorry, I’d just heard--”

“I know what the rumors are.” He sighed. “I just didn’t think they’d ever come back to bite me this hard.”

Hadassah shook her head. “I shouldn’t have paid any attention to what people said. And it doesn’t even  _ matter _ who you’ve slept with, or how many people. It  _ shouldn’t  _ have mattered. You shouldn’t have had to  _ tell  _ me that to make me feel better. It’s none of my business. I just--and I was so worried about people assuming things about me, I never thought--”

“It’s fine,” he said. He reached for her, hesitated, found her shoulder with the palm of his hand. “Thank you for telling me.”

She laid her hand atop his. “I didn’t want you to leave thinking I regretted it. I mean, I do, but not for the reasons you think. I’m just all messed up in the head about...stuff like that. I wanted you, Arthur. I don’t want you to think that I didn’t.”

He laced his fingers through hers. “Thank you,” he said again. “I’ll be in Far Harbor tonight. My men have a room there. May I see you in the morning before I leave?”

A thousand different endings for this moment played out in her head. Each one had its merits, comforted different parts of her, silenced different voices in her head. But she knew which one she wanted now, with desire’s sharp clarity overtaking conditioned fear. 

So no, she couldn’t slip out of that old fear, put on a new ideology and forget the old days forever. But she could start walking forward until she reached a place the fear couldn’t follow quite so easily.

“Stay.” Her voice quivered.

“Hadassah, you don’t have to do this just because you think I’m upset--”

“Stay,” she said firmly. She squeezed his hand, ran her palm up his forearm until she reached his face. “I want you to stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“I want you, Arthur. I’m not going to let something a bunch of stupid old men told me when I was a kid rule over my life forever.”

His eyes closed against her palm. She stood up and positioned herself in his lap, facing him.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

He did.

His kiss held none of the power it had a month ago, fueled then by alcohol and victory. This time, his kiss was sweet and soft and gentle, his face turning almost shyly to deepen it. She ran her hands up his chest to the zipper and helped him struggle out of the flight suit, sober nerves making them both clumsy. He pulled off his undershirt and tucked the sleeves of his suit out of the way, returning his hands to her waist to stabilize her.

She still felt anxious, but her desire grounded her in the moment, strengthened her resolve. She stifled a giggle at the scratch of his beard when he kissed his way across her face to her ear and felt him smile against her skin at the sound. 

The darkness made her want to be bold. This was no Prydwen with its harsh lights, watching eyes, and unfortunate interruptions. She knew she’d have to be quiet, but she could be quiet if it meant she could have him here. In a nuclear submarine occupied by the Children of Atom. As one did. Another one to check off the fuck-it list.

One of his hands slipped between his legs to touch her, dip into the wet heat and drag a trail back up to circle her clitoris slowly, the pressure so light he almost wasn’t touching her at all. She sighed into the skin of his neck and ground against his hand, a heady pressure building up quickly. In the stress of the last month, she’d barely had a spare minute for Special Hadassah Time, and  _ boy  _ was she feeling it.

Her orgasm hit hard, almost without warning, and she barely had enough time to seal her mouth against his to muffle the sound of her moan. When her shudders subsided, Arthur withdrew his hand and wiped it against his discarded shirt. She went boneless against his chest with a murmur.

“So good.” She wanted his mouth on every inch of her. “I want you inside of me.”

“Anything you want.” He picked her up effortlessly as he stood from the chair, exuding a quiet conviction through the efficiency of his movements: a striking juxtaposition from how he’d been the night of the party. Then, he’d been chatty the entire time, whispering drunken encouragement and dirty commands alike in her ear. Now he was physically calm and verbally restrained, though not hesitant. She had a feeling he was trying not to frighten her.

She helped him pull the rest of his clothes off and he followed her down to the mattress eagerly, hands running across her skin as she drew his face to hers for another kiss. She hummed contentedly when he held her breasts in his hands, thumbs running over the tips only to be replaced by the heat of his mouth. When his mouth began to drift further south she took him gently by the hair, pulling to get his attention.

“In me,” she said. “Please.” He obeyed wordlessly, ducking in for one more kiss before she felt a hot, heavy weight pressing into her. She tilted her hips up to assist, the feeling of fullness and warm making her cry out softly. He waited, possibly listening for any horny eavesdroppers, and then began to move.

On the Prydwen, he’d been aggressive with his thrusts, making her light headed every time he bottomed out: it’d been closer to pain than pleasure at times but nonetheless satisfying. This time, his thrusts were shallower, and he leaned back to give himself more control over the angle and speed, lifting one of her legs up and to the side to spread her wider. She felt for him in the dark and found his free hand, holding it tight against the mattress.

She knew he was close when he started panting and slowing down, lengthening his thrusts to keep his orgasm at bay. She bit back a request for speed and strength. It was almost breathtaking to watch him like this, the soft glow of the nighttime lighting painting eerie stripes on his skin and catching the light where it illuminated the sweat beading his chest. She wanted it to last forever.

He finished with a hitch in his breath and a shaky exhale, biting his lip to keep from vocalizing. She drew the blanket up around them when he sank down by her side, tucking him in and smiling at the memory of the last time she did so. A rag next to her bed allowed for some basic cleanup--she’d never understood people who could just roll over and go to sleep right after--and braced herself for the guilt.

It was there. She’d be lying to herself if she said it wasn’t. But she was ready for it this time, and told the guilt exactly what it could do with itself. Cussing out her own projected feelings didn’t make them go away, but it  _ did  _ make her feel a little better. If that’s all she could get for now, so be it. She’d get better next time, and even better the time after that. She just needed...practice.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I’m just happy.”

She turned over and embraced him chest to chest, entwining her legs to bring herself even closer. If he felt anything damp on her cheeks, he didn’t mention it. She fell asleep tangled against him, and woke to the vibrations of pious feet attending to morning prayers. 

* * *

Nick met up with the both of them outside the Nucleus’s front gate. Shrewd eyes took Hadassah in, and she shook her head with a smile to set him at ease. Arthur didn’t make any untoward comments, but he didn’t greet Nick either. Hadassah supposed that would do for now.

Her dogs, kindly but firmly banished to the outside by Brian after the last Dog Incident, unraveled from their overnight cuddle puddle and ran to greet her, pushing their noses into her outstretched hands. Three of them jumped against Arthur looking for pats, which he dutifully provided.

“Our mutant friend has decided to remain on the Island,” Nick said. He lit up a cigarette and took a drag, the smoke filtering uselessly through the holes in his neck. “You ready to head back home, doll?”

“Almost,” said Hadassah. She looked over at Arthur, who looked back at her with an unreadable expression. “There’s someone I’d like to introduce the Elder to, first.”

“I’ve been interviewing him for my research on the effects of environmental stimulation on the FEV virus,” she explained in response to Arthur’s questioning look. He perked up in anticipation, and she almost felt sorry for what he was about to see next. Almost.

They all wound up at Erikson’s together, Hadassah, Nick, and Arthur; Nick hadn't really wanted to walk back to Far Harbor alone, and also hadn’t wanted to wait at the Nucleus for her and Arthur to return.

Arthur...took Erikson in stride. Honestly, Erikson probably wasn’t  _ the  _ most upsetting thing he’d experienced on the island thus far. He’d put up his hackles a little when the super mutant popped his head up at them from over a wing, but in the end, with some subtle encouragement from her hand on his back, he’d walked into the wreckage of his own volition. 

And then he’d immediately started drinking about it, helping himself to Erikson’s “company alcohol” in the bucket by the cages. The first bottle was already open by the time Hadassah found her own seat. Now Arthur was on his third beer of the half hour and showing no signs of stopping anytime soon. 

“Why do you have ten dogs?” Arthur held up the hem of his battlecoat primly, having learned his lesson quickly on what the dogs grabbed first in their bids for his attention.

“I dunno. Why  _ don’t _ you have ten dogs?” She asked, feeling somewhat defensive. Who didn’t want ten dogs? Eleven counting Dogmeat, even: Butterface, Tiny Man, Sweetie, Champagne, Ghost, Warlock, Yam, Concrete, Frindle, and Perfectly Normal Steve.

“I don’t have  _ one _ dog,” Arthur muttered. He took a seat in a free chair and put the recliner all the way back.

“You can take Sweetie. She’s the mutant hound over there. Much nicer than she looks.”

“Hence the name.”

“Hence the name. Actually, don’t take Sweetie. The Brotherhood would probably dissect her or something since she’s a mutant. You can take Perfectly Normal Steve. He’s the mutt over there. The normal-looking one.”

Arthur craned his neck around to behold Perfectly Normal Steve. True to his name, Perfectly Normal Steve was a perfectly normal dog in every way. Maybe. Hadassah couldn’t remember anymore if pre-war dogs had two tails sometimes.

“I’ll take him.”

“Will Kells let you keep him on the Prydwen? He always gave me the stank eye when I brought Dogmeat up, and those were just short visits.”

“Kells can’t tell me what to do,” muttered Arthur solemnly. He scrunched up his nose with the effort of keeping his head steady and whistled at Perfectly Normal Steve, who immediately launched sixty pounds of canine muscle into Arthur’s lap. Arthur reached behind the chair for a fourth beer, holding his free hand out to keep Perfectly Normal Steve’s tail(s) from whipping him in the face.

“This is okay,” Just Arthur slurred. He took a long pull of Gwinnett. “ _ All _ of this is fine. I am  _ fine _ .” 

“This is surreal is what it is.” Nick Valentine leaned back in his own recliner, staring up unblinking at the patch of sky visible through the torn roof.

“Yes it is, Nick. Yes it is.”

“I have a dog now. ‘S incredible.” 

It was a lovely morning in post-apocalyptic Mount Desert Island, and Perfectly Normal Steve knew it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EPILOGUE: Hadassah occasionally calls Arthur Maxson "Just Arthur" in bed for the rest of their lives. Arthur does not know [sexual] peace.
> 
> ~Optional Comment Prompts~  
> 1\. post a photo of the real actual submarine that YOU want to fuck in! Why do you want to fuck in it? Please elaborate.  
> 2\. What are your headcanons for Perfectly Normal Steve? Does he do tricks? Is he a good boy? Does he get airsick in Kells’ bed? Does Arthur give him a little captain hat?


End file.
